A blog by a werewolf. Topics include werewolves, fantasy and horror fiction, therianthropy, spirituality, myths and legends, some reviews, cryptids, the unknown, wild animals and science. IMPORTANT note: This blog uses cookies.

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Tuesday, 29 March 2016

Fenrir's Daughters: Frostine Blackthorn

"Queen of Spades?"
"Yes it is," I said.
"Then you can go in," said the doorman.
"Thank you."
I entered the cabaret and it was a very smoky environment packed with glittery flotsam of bitter perfumes. They sure smelled of tobacco and vice. So I took a space seat by a table and ordered a soft cognac with tension in my voice.
The moment my glass was set in front of me, I knew this could be it. The singer was pretty and although she wasn't Eartha Kitt she had a lovely voice and presense that tempered my angry mood that dark night. It was raining now, I could tell because of the aroma I can understand. Being a creature as I am, a child of the moon, as some horror film may describe me as a wolf woman, but wolfbane doesn't have that kind of affect on me.
I light my cigarette and draw in the heat and the sweet burning tar that gives me ease and focus. After the first score, I notice Henry enter the venue and stride over to the bar, typically. I've been watching him carefully for two days, but this is soon my moment to strike.
I remove my golden compact mirror from my vlvet purse, and check out my eyeliner. The lights are so dim here, but I can see better than other people can. It's not my make-up that I'm looking for but the signs of topaz in the iris' giving me an indication that the moon is drawing me closer.
Tonight I will fulfil my hunt. I will execute Henry and accomplish my revenge.
He killed my father.
I hate that man.
When Henry checks his wrist watch, he removes his fedora hat. Now I am so sure he'll enter the door through the side and that leads to the stairs. He does that so he can be alone in the upper chamber with a friend. If I can follow him now, I will track his movements and then catch him unawares.
I keep my deringer safely in my coat pocket along with my hankie.
That man is going to die tonight. I am right. Henry goes through the door and I feel ready. I casually walk to that same door and open it trying to feel calm and cool. I must never give away suspicion. I ascend the carpetted stairs and pass no one. Shadows on the walls over paintings flicker because of an overhead thunderstorm.
Henry's scent leads me into a corner, but no one else is up there. I know he's waiting for someone and now is my time to kill him. The deringer is a back-up. I don't want to cause any noise. I can feel pain now enveloping me as I will myself to transform into the wolf. Before I can change at all, I'm nudged in the back.
"Stop right there miss!"a woman points her gun into my back. She's red haired and her eyes are blazing as amber stones. A werewolf, like me! Owch!
"Excuse me," I said, remaining as calmly as I can.
"I know what you're up to," she said.
"You do?" I asked innocently.
She nods and points her gun upwards.
"Get up there," she demands.
I'm escorted by this woman wolf with a gun pointing in my back. She makes me turn the corner and face Henry, who looks at me with cold eyes. He murdered my father.
"Thank you very much, Claudine," Henry said to the woman. "I appreciate your help."
"No problem, sir," she responds.
I act as naive as I could. Playing with them, pretending I don't know what the fuss is about.
"Queen of Spades," Henry said. "That is what you're called here."
"Yes," I tell him. It's a nickname given to me by Norman, my employer. I worked as an accountant for him and he was part of the mob too. A quick background here, my father was linked with the gangsters or an associate is better the word. He was a gentleman and owned a restaurant. Henry used a machine gun and killed my father a few years ago and got away with it.
"I'm sure you understand never to hunt the hunter," said Henry, with his eyes glowing like ice.
Oh my God! What have I got myself into?
Not only was Henry just an ordinary gangster, he was an alpha wolf. He stood there, on all fours, grey fur, baring his teeth. He was the biggest wolf I've ever seen. I couldn't get away. Claudine was not pointing her gun in my back anymore. She closed her jaws over my neck. All turned dark.
I was taken out instantly. I share this sad miserable failed attempt at revenge.
My real name is Frostine Blackthorn. Now as a spirit telling Fenrir's Daughters my story that happened in the year 1946, a past time wolf woman that will teach others never to seek out revenge blindly and don't be involved in your parent's darkest business affairs.